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Pamela Fagan Hutchins | At least we’ll always be able to find it.

Post procedure 3-way w/the 2 objects of his “affection”: kangaroo and German shepherd.

Last week Petey the one-eyed Boston Terrier went under the knife for the snip-snip. The nip-and-tuck. The neutering.

Why, you may rightly ask, would we do this to our sweetie Petey? Well, we got this feedback when we boarded him at the super awesome Polka Dot Dogs here in Houston two weeks ago: “Your little darlin’ is trying to become a father and has his [one] eye on that chihuahua over there. And the cockapoo. Oh, and also the maltese.”

Pooooooor Petey. In his defense, he told me all three were super hot little bitches.  And he loves Polka Dot Dogs. Instead of kennels, they let all the dogs of similar size and temperament play in open rooms together. He’d like us to take him along wherever we go, but, if he can’t go with us, he prefers PDD.

PDD, however, has a policy. At the age of seven months, little boy doggies no longer get to stay in open room boarding if they can’t keep it to themselves. While I think anyone would be lucky to get the bonus of little Peteys along with the price of their boarding, I guess I can accept this.

So, Petey visited his very intimate buddies at the vet. After three months of eye treatments, they know and love him. After neutering my poor baby, they know him even better. Before the procedure, they asked me if I’d like them to put a microchip in Petey, in case he ever gets lost.

I called Eric. “Do we want Petey to have one of those Pet Finder microchip thingies?”

Eric said, “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

“Okey dokey. They said they can put one in when they remove his you know whatsies,” I explained.

Eric paused. “Wait a second. They remove his you know whatsies and put the chip in the space left behind?”

“I didn’t ask, but that sounds likely, since this only came up because of his procedure.”

“So he’ll have a tracker in his ball sack??”

“I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but, yeah, I guess that’s about right.”

Another pause.

“Well, I guess we’ll always be able to find it, then,” Eric said.

Ew. If we ever wanted to actually know where it was. Other than between his legs, I mean. I’m thinking this microchip may tell us a little more than we really wanted. Plus, whatever happened to the right to privacy? What do we do when Petey starts dating? Or God forbid, if he marries? Wouldn’t it be enough of a challenge that he couldn’t father little Peteys without his anxious parents tracking his every move with his beloved? This is a little more intrusive than, say, a GPS tracker in a car, which I’m not above installing in my kids’ vehicles if they deserve it. But a ball sack tracker? Could I do that to him?

As I pondered the horrors, Eric broke into my reverie. “I’m kidding, Pamela. It’s a good idea. It’s fine. I’ll bet they don’t even put it there. They probably just use the occasion of anethesia to tuck it in somewhere else.”



I exhaled. What a relief, because I was pretty sure that wherever they were going to put the microchip, it was a done deal by now.

Later that same day, I picked up our Petester. Oh, what a pitiful sight he was, head hanging, eyes downcast. He seemed awfully low, even for a dog who had lost his manhood. I paid and whisked him to the car, whispering supportive and encouraging words in his ear about his bright future and the long line of female dogs who didn’t give a rat’s ear about puppies, citing to our own Layla and Cowboy as an example of devoted and puppieless partners.

Nothing worked. I just couldn’t cheer him up. We were almost home when a cold dread seeped over me.  I pulled to the side of the road and put the car in park. I knew even before I carefully searched his 16-pound body for a microchip incision what I would find — nothing.

The only point of entry? Yes, you guessed it: the poochy pouch. Little tears of guilt welled up in the corners of my eyes. I stroked him and begged for his understanding and forgiveness. This appeared to mollify him a bit, and I headed for home.

As I was making dinner that night, my daughter Susanne came in. “I guess that surgery didn’t work. Petey’s humping his stuffed German Shepherd.”

A few minutes later my son Clark swung by. “What a stud, Mom. Petey’s giving it to that kangaroo. Didn’t he just get his balls chopped off today?”

When he walked through the door, Eric exclaimed, “Wow, Petey, you aren’t letting a little pain stop you, are you?”

I could only imagine. As I pondered his actions, even I had to admit it. Our Petey is a total slut. Maybe the vet put the tracker exactly where we need it to be.



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27 Responses to At least we’ll always be able to find it.

  1. I cannot stop laughing. Your Petey sounds like quite the stud. Our dogs were chipped in the back of the neck. I’m pretty sure that’s the universal area. It doesn’t make for a funny blog though.

    • Pamela says:

      :) I know, I had to just assume it was possible they put it there for purposes of the story. But once Eric said that original ball sack comment, my mind just ran with it. I hope it’s not there, poor little bugger.

  2. Kristi Corona Finley via Facebook says:

    Oh Pam…You just crack me up. Kinda sad there will be no lil Peteys running around.

  3. Eric says:

    His new swami name is Tweety. Poor guy, but oh man I laughed really hard at the office today when I read that one (AGAIN). Petey petey petey.

    • Pamela says:

      Tweety Petey.

      Why do guys always use the word “ball”?

      Women try to come up with any euphemism they can to avoid the word, but I was accurate in portraying both you and Clark as using … that word.

  4. It was a hard choice. Little Peteys, more Petey to love. He is the cutest thing EVER. :)

  5. Anna says:

    Oh my goodness…Thanks for the belly laugh. Our Max did that same thing…humping everything. Fortunately that desire fades away as his testosterone fades…took about 30 days or so.

    As I mentioned in the tweet, he still has that luvin feeling for Pickle but its more a romantic making out instead of full on humping. Lol.

    And now he gets to join the plat group which will be a great trade off :-)


  6. Ally says:

    Crying tears of laughter as I imagine the little guy humping his stuffed toys and going after the girlie dogs at PPD. And not even letting a little neutering slow him down. I feel a whole book about Petey coming on.

  7. Myrna Mubus says:

    Too funny! And rest assured, they didn’t implant a chip in his nether regions. Should be in his neck but you won’t find an incision – the chip is so small they implant it with a device.

  8. Terri Sonoda says:

    You can’t keep a good stud down. Petey’s got places to go and stuffed pillows/animals to do. He’ll be just fine. LOL (I’ll be chuckling about this one all day. LOVED it).

  9. Eric says:

    Love it when you get on a funny roll. Your voice is alive and well. And you are fortunate that you have a lot of material to work with in our house/ :)

  10. “Petey’s humping his stuffed German Shepherd.” Haaaahaa

    OMG, Petey is a very naughty -humping -one -eyed- perfert.

    But I still love him :)X

  11. Jennifer says:

    I think Petey would love my perverted pug. Even though my dog has two eyes, he has half a brain. And now that Petey is “unsexed” or “desexed” Ozzie will surely hump him happily.

    You need to look at this:

    • Pamela says:

      OMG, Petey is doubly scarred. We can track his (former) canoolis, and he didn’t get implants! I suck as a dog mom. At least he has a happy humping relationship with Ozzie to look forward to. You crack me up. :)

  12. May says:

    Hahahahaha. Ball sack tracker. Love, love love! I’m totally kermit flailing here.

  13. Sandy Webb says:

    OK! I am never reading you blogs at work again…you are too funny sista! Poor Petey and his lost manhood. When I picked Tater up after his little snip, snip I had to go to the back myself to get him out of his cage as he was snarling and snapping at the staff. Not a happy little dog after having his privacy invaded in such a manner.

    • Pamela says:

      Oh man, get ’em Tater. I think I’d feel that way too tho. You don’t want just anybody pawing around in there, much less taking the jewels from the safe, ya know?

  14. What a perfect ending to my day. I am now going to sleep after reading this – and snickering like an elementary school boy at a dirty joke. Just hysterical. Thank you!

  15. […] let’s just get this out there: Petey is Catholic, y’all. We found out on Ash Wednesday during Lent. Why, you may ask? Because he came home […]

  16. […] injured and rejoiced when it recovered. I love their compassion. Layla’s story had me crying. And Petey? That terrier…what a hero! Cowboy’s cute. And am sorry, Pamela, I am never going to stop […]

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